


off(ice) limits

by 43sparrows



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Adult Number Five | The Boy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Banter, Boss/Employee Relationship, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Number Five | The Boy in an Adult Body, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Smut, The Commission, The Commission (Umbrella Academy), The Temps Commission, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/43sparrows/pseuds/43sparrows
Summary: You're tasked with onboarding Five into the Commission, but the more time you spend together, the harder it is to remain strictly professional.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Original Character(s), Number Five | The Boy & Original Female Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Commission!Reader, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Original Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Original Female Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Reader, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Female Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 140





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: First, and most importantly, Five is not a teenager in this. Nor is he a 58 year old man. In this story that’s early 30s. As always, I completely get why lots of people are weirded out by Five stories, but his character is just too interesting to not explore. I think of it the same way I write for Harry Potter or Peter Parker. 
> 
> NOTE: This idea popped into my head literally last night and the whole series took a turn because it just came pouring out. I think of this as a prologue basically to the rest of the story which will be another series of "connected one shots."
> 
> INSPIRATION: Basically MARINA's discography but specifically "Bubblegum Bitch".

"New recruit. Starts tomorrow," Kendra said, placing a thick manilla folder in front of you on your desk. You looked up from your report, hands stilling on the typewriter. Your brow creased slightly.

"Already?" you asked, not moving to touch the file. Once you touched the file it was officially yours. And you had neither the time nor the desire to pick up a new "special recruit." Not after the last 'I-was-head-of-MI6-I-think-I-can-handle-this-sweetheart' idiot who, as it turned out, couldn't. Kendra nodded.

You sighed, shaking your head. "I just finished with Francis whose Guy Fawkes disaster has me swamped with paperwork," you said, gesturing to the paper sticking out of your typewriter. "Give it to someone else."

"The Handler wants you on this one."

"Of course she does," you said, dryly.

"She thinks you'll enjoy him."

"She said that about Francis. I didn't. Call me a bitch, but I'm glad he was terminated."

Kendra flinched at the curse and the corner of your mouth quirked up. She visibly composed herself before looking at the file. "Just look at the name," she pressed, and against your better judgment, with another sigh you did so, flipping up the folder to the profile page.

HARGREEVES, FIVE

Your eyes shot up to Kendra whose brows were raised. "She got him?" you asked, pulling your chair closer to the desk and unclipping the selection of pictures of Five. There was one of him as a child still, standing amongst the rest of his adoptive siblings in front of a bank. You recognized that one from when you were in the timeline.

The next was of an older Five, sifting through a library in 2024.

And then, a picture of a thirty year old man with a poorly trimmed beard, long hair, and a rifle in his hands, aimed at the camera lens.

You couldn't believe they had finally made the call to extend an offer. And that he had said _yes._

"Take a look at his contract," Kendra said, stepping a bit closer to your desk. You thumbed through the pages in the file past article clippings and field agent reports to the final pages of the contract. At first it appeared to be a standard Temporal Assassin - 1st Class contract. But then your eyes caught on the length of service.

" _Five years?"_ you asked. "They offered him five years? That's all?"

Kendra shook her head. "I know. He'll be in and out before I'm even halfway through."

You were only half listening though, having turned back to some of the field agent reports of Five's time in the apocalypse. "They're probably hoping some freedom will make him sign on to a year by year contract. Kind of like those free trials in the timeline."

Kendra's face creased with confusion. Sometimes you forgot she was from the 1930s.

"Nevermind," you dismissed with a shake of her head. "Tell the Handler I'll take him, but only if someone else finishes up the Francis report and closes his file."

The assistant nodded and moved to your office door, shutting it and leaving you behind with the file.

[ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ] [ 5 ]

When you walked into your office the next morning, Five Hargreeves was in the middle of attempting to break into your desk.

"I don't keep anything useful in there," you said, leaning against the door frame. Five's head shot up and his eyes met yours. "Unless you're looking for tampons."

To his credit, he neither cringed at the word tampons nor looked particularly remorseful for being caught. Instead his eyes glanced down to your socked feet, moving to the shiny black heels sticking out of your purse, where you'd put them upon entering the building. You smiled.

"This place is cleaner than my own house, and you'd be surprised how useful it is to not have the sound of heels announcing your presence everywhere you go. Or, maybe not." You pushed yourself off of the door frame, walking towards your desk, eyes on him as he slipped out from behind it and into the chair meant for him.

It was odd seeing the grown version of a literal hero from your childhood. Growing up, you had been enthralled by the Umbrella Academy. They were the ones who set you on your path--made you want to "hunt down bad guys" as you used to tell adults. You remembered the day the story broke that Five went missing, and you began searching news reports around the world as if you could find the Runaway Boy.

"Coffee?" you asked, turning to the pot behind your desk and pulling out the coffee can.

"Please," he said, the distant tone of distraction alerting you to the fact that he was most likely looking through his file that had been in your purse.

"It's your file, you can request a copy from HR," you said, scooping coffee into the filter, and there was a heavy pause in the room. You sighed. "I'm good at what I do, Five."

You flipped the switch at the bottom of the maker and turned back around to find the file sitting neatly in front of your chair and Five lounging in his chair. It was a bit disappointing how...predictable he was. Then again, you'd studied him more than most. More than even Dot probably.

You dropped into your seat. "And I've heard you're also good at what you do."

"Which is?"

"Survival. And upholding the common good. Which is what we do here. Uphold the common good by ensuring the survival of the time and space continuum as we know it. I take it the Handler has explained our mission statement and the nature of your position?"

He nodded. "And they've explained why you're here and not with the rest of the recruits down in the classroom?"

"Apparently you specialize in training _'special recruits like me.'_ " The mocking acidity in his voice made your lips twitch up.

"Something like that," you nodded. "For our recruits who show the most potential, we like to give them more...individualized training. You don't need the hand holding that they're getting down there. You just need a bit of refinement."

"Refinement through fire?"

"You could say that," you shrugged. The coffee pot beeped and you turned, pouring two mugs of black coffee and passing one over to Five. "I hope you don't take cream and sugar."

He shook his head. "Not exactly bountiful in the apocalypse," he quipped back, lifting the drink to his lips. You watched, sipping from your own mug, noticing his shoulders relax slightly.

You set the mug down in front of you. "So," you said, folding your hands in front of you. "Temporal assassin. What made you sign up?"

"Easy. I wanted out of the apocalypse."

You raised your eyebrow. "And you couldn't just use your power for that?"

His shoulders stiffened with the question. "It's not as simple as willing myself into a time or place," he said tightly. "There's advanced equations involved. Physics even those guys at CERN couldn't comprehend."

"That you comprehended enough at thirteen to get yourself stuck in the apocalypse."

Five's lips pressed together in a condescending and strained attempt at a polite smile. "Think of it this way--"

"Yes, please dumb it down for me," you said, reaching for your coffee again. He ignored you.

"Children can know enough to climb up a tree but not enough to climb down, right? It's always more difficult going in reverse. Fighting against the natural progression of time."

"You're assuming the natural progression of time is linear," you interrupted. He paused, a furrowed brow prompting you to continue. "Our consciousness progresses linearly as does our bodily degeneration, so most people mistakenly assume that time functions linearly. That's not the case. But we're getting off track." You paused, eyes lingering on him once more, and you could see him working through the equations he held so dear in his head. Analyzing and modifying them with this new piece of knowledge. "You mean to tell me that you, the brightest of the Umbrella Academy, couldn't figure out how to get back to your time after seventeen years with nothing to do but focus on the math?"

His jaw ticked. "There were a bit more pressing concerns I had to balance the math with at the time. Namely, survival."

"Hm," you hummed, eyes falling to the folder in front of you. "Or maybe you simply didn't want to return."

"You don't have a clue what you're talking about," he snapped.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his again. "Impressive control on that temper, but not perfect," you remarked, pulling the coffee mug up and cradling it into your chest. "You're going to need to address that anger problem."

If anything this suggestion did the reverse, as you could feel the frustration radiating off of him. "You're toying with me."

"Five," you sighed. "I am about to send a man who has been isolated for seventeen years in an apocalyptic wasteland to some of the most crucial moments in the timeline to assassinate people without getting caught. I need to know what I'm working with."

"Isn't that what the psych eval is for?" he asked, sinking back into the chair a bit.

"That's for insurance purposes."

There was another pause between the two of you. "Think of this," you gestured between you two with the hand not holding your coffee. "As my insurance policy."

"And what about mine?" Five asked. You lifted an eyebrow. "How do I know you're fit to train me?"

You opened your arms. "Ask away."

"Why did you join?"

"I was recruited."

"What did they offer you?"

"They offered not to kill me. It was very compelling."

This stopped Five's interrogation dead, and for the first time since he walked into your office, he looked...interested. And you couldn't lie: that felt rather good.

"Due to the nature of my work when I was part of the timeline, I discovered certain similarities amongst some cold cases and a current one. The interesting part was that the first discernable case that was part of this...pattern was in 1904. Apparently, I stumbled across the Commissions' signature. Naturally we're not supposed to have one, but every killer or organization falls into certain patterns. I managed to track down a few of their sloppier agents and that led to me becoming a rather annoying blip on the Commission's radar."

He didn't say anything. Instead, he looked at you with slightly narrowed eyes, as if attempting to read your own mind. You allowed yourself a smile.

"I can see you're surprised. Believe it or not Five, there's not a finite amount of intelligence in the world and you don't have a monopoly on being clever. There are people out there who are as smart if not smarter than you."

He leaned forward, a smug look on his face. "If there are, I've never heard of them."

"Actually," you leaned forward with a grin of your own. "You've just met one."


	2. sales call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to see their working relationship and what they're like in the field together! Each chapter will be a bit of a time jump so this is the early days and we'll catch up with them further down the line next time.

"We're starting you off with an easy one," you announced, sliding the case file across your desk to Five. "Consider yourself lucky."

"I don't need you to go easy on me," Five remarked, placing two fingers on top of the file and moving it back towards you.

You smiled warmly, graciously, and with the smallest hint of violence. "You don't really have a choice in your assignments here, Five," you lightly corrected, pushing the file once more across the desk. "You do what you're told or you're in breach of contract. A position I can very much assure you that you _don't_ want to find yourself in."

He raised an eyebrow, but the file remained put in front of him.

"Excellent," you nodded and gestured to the document. "Please."

Five flicked the front of the manila folder open with a finger, slowly breaking eye contact as if trying to quietly undo velcro. He read silently, giving you the opportunity to silently take him in. He looked different from last week.

Better.

Whereas before he was scrawny and scraggly and looked more like a wild animal than a human being, now he looked almost attractive. He'd shaved off most of the matted beard, keeping a bit of stubble to line his jaw. His hair had also been cut and styled so that it swept to one side. He'd filled out a bit and looked healthier--probably due to the fact that he had easy access to semi-fresh meals as opposed to scrounging from cans. The 50s suited Five.

Five's head looked up, catching your eyes on him. "You want me to save Martin Luther King Jr. from being assassinated?"

You nodded once.

"Maybe I missed something, but I was fairly certain that that's part of the timeline."

"Not before he speaks at the March on Washington," you shook your head. "Look at the date, Five. You need to familiarize yourself with all of the file, not just the target and goal."

It almost appeared as if the critique rolled right off him, but you caught the small tightening of his jaw as he bent back over the papers.

"So, you want me to kill a man and leave no trace of myself or his method of death."

"Without using your powers, correct."

Five's brow creased, and you sighed.

"If anyone sees that funny blue light and reports it, that's a record of you that people like me can trace back."

"So what about this is supposed to be easy, then?" Five asked, his lips slightly curved into a frown.

"It's morally easy," you explained, picking up your cup of coffee from your desk. "We understand new recruits sometimes have a difficult transition into the work we do and upholding the greater good. So, we're starting with a case that...won't cause you any problems sleeping at night."

"I doubt that's going to be an issue," he said with some finality, closing the file.

You looked him over once more, letting your gaze linger on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. "Tell that to the agent who had to handle the Lindbergh case."

He didn't have a response to that.

"You have," you pushed back your sleeve to look at your watch. "Four hours to come up with a proposed solution."

"I don't need them," he shook his head.

You paused, staring at him and hoping that he wasn't going to say what you thought he was going to say. Before you could correct him about how no matter how much experience he had, this wasn't a job where he could just wing it, he spoken again.

"The solution is simple."

"You mean to tell me in less than five minutes you've come up with a solution and plan to enact it, when the Commission is prepared to give you four hours?"

He nodded his head, looking rather pleased with himself. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."

You leaned back in your chair, gesturing for him to share with one hand and lifting your coffee to your lips with the other. Five, for his part, mirrored you, slouching back into the chair and giving a look of mild disdain. "He's a door to door knife salesman."

It was hardly a detailed explanation of a well-thought out plan. It was barely even a sentence.

"Yes, good, you read the first page of the file."

Five sighed, and leaned back forward. "How familiar are you with human anatomy."

" _The leg bone's connected to the knee bone,_ " you sang, a smirk curling at your lip at his bemused expression. "Oh, internal? _Hey, there's a telegraph line, you got yours and I got mine. It's called the nervous system--_ "

"Cute," Five remarked with a tight and incredibly fake smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of your circulatory system."

"There's a song for that too you know."

"I'm sure there is."

"I just figured since we're doing a song and dance around your actual plan, I'd provide the music," you shrugged, offering your own fake smile.

Five rolled his eyes but seemed to catch on to the point and moved on. "There are a few items every knife salesman likes to cut in order to prove how superior their knives are."

"We've moved on from the anatomy part of the show then?" you asked, and Five glared at you but otherwise ignored the comment.

"Bagels, tomatoes, you know," he explained. "All we have to do is find a vacant house on his route and have him sell us some knives. As he goes to demonstrate, the knife slightly jerks and he's cut his superficial palmar arch. It's deep. It's not looking so good. He doesn't want to scare the customer so he decides to leave and drive himself to the doctor. He probably won't make it. Either the blood loss kills him or he blacks out while driving the car."

He was a genius. There were obvious flaws in the plan like the fact that a car accident could disturb another facet of the timeline or that if they didn't time it perfectly, the homeowners could come home in the middle of the knife demonstration. Then there was the problem of cleaning up the blood he'd leave and how long that could potentially take. But if you focused on the "coulds" of every plan, nothing would ever get done.

You set your coffee back down onto your desk. "We'll sort out some details on the way to the briefcase room. Let's go."

* * *

You let Five hold the briefcase. Despite the fact that it was 1963 and the second wave of feminism was on the horizon, you had still gotten more odd looks from passersby than you were entirely comfortable with. So, you passed Five the briefcase and looped your arm through his.

Five stiffened at the touch, jerking slightly in your light grip. You cast an inquisitive glance up on him to find his attention studiously focused ahead. You weren't sure if saw the question in your face out of the corner of his eye, or could hear it from the silence, but he answered it.

"I haven't been touched in seventeen years," he said, his voice soft but somehow still firm and aloof. "Probably longer, actually."

You had not considered this.

It made sense now, how each time you passed a car full of people or neighbors waving from the porch, Five's attention seemed to linger on the person longer than strictly necessary. He wasn't scouting for an in. Even though he'd been at the Commission for a couple of weeks, he probably hadn't seen this many strange faces since he was a child.

The corner of your mouth lifted slowly and you turned to face forward so Five wouldn't see and misread the action.

"I don't want to _gooo_." Both of you turned towards the wail, finding a mother tugging her son by his hand towards a light blue car.

The father leaned his head out of the driver's window. "Brian, you stop that right now," he reprimanded.

"But she's _oooold,_ and she always gives me baby toys to play with," the boy pouted. He was hardly out of the baby stage himself, no more than four or five. Beside you, Five seemed to catch onto an idea, stopping on the sidewalk and angling his body towards the family.

"She's your grandmother, and she loves you and wants to see you." The mother chided, loosening his fingers from the porch railing.

Brian continued to whine but the mother had caught sight of you and Five. "Children," she said with a rueful smile.

"Reminds me of ours," you said with a warm smile. "He's nine now and can't get enough of my parents' farm, but he used to throw the biggest fits over visiting."

The mother gave a harried little laugh. "Good to know it gets better."

"Brian!" the father barked, and the little boy broke into sobs as his mother finally maneuvered him to the car, somehow managing to simultaneously opening the door and manhandle him inside. She shut it and lifted a hand to you and Five before scurrying towards the passenger side.

You smiled back and continued your walk down the sidewalk.

"We have a nine year old son?" Five asked under his breath as you heard the car door slam behind you.

"And my parents have a farm apparently. You were staring," you hissed.

"So were you."

"You were obvious about it."

There wasn't much of an argument to be made about that. Especially not as the pair of you heard tires rolling over loose rocks before pulling out onto the road. Next to five, the light blue car rolled by, heading off to the grandmother's house. Wherever that was.

"That's our house," Five said, moving to turn around, but you stopped him, releasing his arm so you could grab at your ear.

"Oh!" you exclaimed. "I lost my earring somewhere."

Five rolled his eyes and the two of you turned on the sidewalk, your eyes scanning the ground as Five's remained fixated on the house. "I didn't realize acting was such a big part of an assassin's job."

"You can't be memorable. Can't be suspicious. You're more of a lethal spy than sniper."

"Noted," Five said dryly, as the two of you came to the now vacant driveway. Five's eyes scanned the neighboring houses. "Drawn curtains, nobody around." He gestured towards the house and you followed, coming around to the back door. Before you could even ask him about the rest of the plan, Five was opening the door to the house for you from inside.

"Welcome home, dear."

* * *

The two of you did couple well.

At least, you did stereotypical 1960s couple well.

This was probably due to the fact that Five looked every bit the bored husband dragged into the sales pitch by his eager wife, and you wanted this man's final moments to be a mostly positive experience. Let him feel successful. Let him feel like he's reeled you in. It was always good to end things on a high note.

He had a huge and rather smug smile on when he made the cut.

Five was fast. Impressively fast. So fast that you almost missed the faint shimmer of blue surrounding the tomato that all the sudden was just a bit too far left of the knife which bounced off the skin, causing the tomato to shoot in one direction and the blade to slice through the palm of Stephen Reynold's hand.

His eyes widened and you let out a startled scream.

It wasn't entirely fake.

That was _a lot_ of blood gushing out of his hand and onto the kitchen table. Across from you, the man was rapidly going white.

"Oh! Oh! Honey!"

Five got up from the table and began pulling open drawers,looking for drawers. You blinked rapidly and wondered what would happen if he didn't make it out the door. What was Five's plan for the dead body in someone else's home?

"Honey, he needs to go to the hospital. Call an ambulance," you said, your voice rising.

"No, no," Stephen said, shaking his head. "It's just a cut. Goes to show how sharp our knives are." He attempted to smile as Five shoved a green and white checkered dish towel at him. "I think I'll just head home and let the Mrs. patch it up. You have my card?"

Five nodded, and the man gathered up his knife set, single handedly, dropping them haphazardly into the case. Five walked him out to the front door, as you let yourself slip out of character and survey the scene. Most of the blood seemed concentrated on the table and his chair. There was a small amount on the floor, but overall, he'd kept it rather contained. That was a rather nice final act of kindness.

You walked over to the sink, pulling out the bleach and a pile of rags. It was the same in every one of these houses. So utterly predictable, it made your job easy.

You had cleaned up about half of the mess on the table when Five appeared next to you. "It's taken care of."

"Everything? Exactly as planned? By the book?"

"Yes," he said, rolling up his suit's sleeves. "Where'd you find the rags?"

"Where else would I find them? Under the sink," you said, rolling your eyes as you continued to mop them up. "I'm guessing you umbrella kids never had to clean the kitchen?"

He shook his head, taking an unused rag from the pile."Mom did all that. We just had combat training and solving advanced differential equations."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I'm going to find a bag to put this all in so we can burn it back at the Commission." You placed the bloodied rag down next to the other one you'd already used and moved towards the cabinets.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I'm going to get a--"

"No, the eyeroll," he clarified, and you turned back around to find that he hadn't touched the pool of blood seeping dangerously close to the table's edge. "What was that for?"

You shook your head. "It's for the fact that your mother did all of the house work while your father ran bootcamp. That she kept the house running while the kids were off becoming heroes and training to hone their skills and interests--"

"She was a robot."

"Oh, the perfect woman then."

"Yes--no," Five corrected, realizing a second too late he'd stepped in a trap.

"I'm not judging you, Five. Just your father and all of the other men in power like him," you said turning back towards the cabinets. "Thankfully you seem to be rather gender blind when it comes to your issues with authority."

"Issues with authority--"

"Aha!" you said, pulling out a brown shopping bag. "This'll have to do. Hopefully the blood won't soak through the bottom. You shook the bag a few times before placing it on the clean part of the table.

"I only have issues with people in authority who won't listen to others' ideas."

" _Your_ ideas. And you don't just want us to listen. You want us to adopt them," you said, pointing to the blood. Five began to clean it up and you took another clean rag, dabbing it with bleach and wiping at the floor. "Which might be more of a problem if you weren't so damn adept."

"Careful," Five said, tossing his blood soaked rag into the paper bag. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

"I'm a hardass, not a bitch, Five," you sighed, standing up from the floor and dropping your rag onto the pile of others before sticking them in the paper bag. There's a slight difference, but there _is_ a difference."

"Is there?" he asked, an amused smirk crossing his lips.

"Yes. A hardass can give compliments when they're deserved," you said, with a cursory glance around before taking the briefcase and setting it back to the Commission. "A bitch would point out that if you were half as gifted as you think you are, you would have gotten back home instead of remaining stranded in 2019."

"Noted," his voice was flat but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Good." Your own mouth had a difficult time staying in a line. "Home then?"

He nodded, grabbing the paper bag in one hand and the briefcase handle in the other, his hand partially covering yours this time around. And then, the two of you were gone.


	3. nine to five

"That could have gone better," you said, stepping out of your heels and onto the cool tile floor of HQ. You bent down, picking up the shoes so they dangled from your index and middle finger, outsoles angled away from your pressed black pants. A small drop of blood fell from the toe of the shoe, dotting the floor. 

Next to you, Five wiped at his face with the back of his shirt sleeve, streaking red across the cuff. The bright color stood out amongst the browning stains from earlier. "Killing five people at once isn't exactly a cakewalk," Five shot back, running a hand through his hair. The dark locks didn't fall back into place after the motion, instead remaining slicked back or standing at odd angles. You didn't particularly want to know what was keeping it up, but you had enough of an idea to crinkle your nose in disgust. Five missed the look, his attention focused on the other agents who scurried around the two of you, giving you a wide berth. "It might have gone smoother if I'd had some help." 

"I locked the door, didn't I?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, starting down the hallway towards the stairs. 

You couldn't see the side-eye he gave you, but you knew it was there. Not only was there the creeping feeling of being watched, but you and Five had spent enough time together that you'd caught onto his reactions and expressions. And it was all in the eyes with him. 

"Yes, and it was absolutely invaluable. If it weren't for you the man attempting to stab me or the woman with her legs around my neck might have run right out."

"Don't say I never did anything for you, Five," you quipped, the corners of your lips turning up. You felt Five's gaze move off you and instead focus forward. "Anyway, in a few weeks, you'll be a solo agent and be out in the field on your own."

"You mean I'll have to lock the door myself?" Five asked flatly, and you snorted, the two of you reaching the staircase. You started up the stairs, on the way to your office as Five remained down at the landing. 

"Return the briefcase and take a shower. You need it," you threw over your shoulder, your footsteps silent as you slowly ascended the stairs.

"Y/N," Five called out, stopping you. You turned to look over the railing, arching an eyebrow at him. He was looking at you with his head tilted and eyes squinted slightly, assessing. Your stomach dropped a little.

"I'll definitely be solo then?" Five asked, and you nodded. 

"As long as you impress the Board," you answered, keeping your voice even and matter-of-fact, your eye contact consistent.

Five bobbed his head up and down, his face still stuck in consideration. "And if I didn't want to be solo, would they give me that choice?"

Both eyebrows raised this time, the expression of surprise and disbelief more of a reflex than a reaction. "You want a partner?"

"The right one." 

His gaze was piercing, and it felt as if he was staring into you rather than at you. Your insides seemed to constrict, making it a little hard to do much more than keep a straight face. You exhaled through your nose, breaking eye contact to look up the stairs. Towards your office with comfy chairs, nice windows, and a decent enough coffee machine. Slowly, you turned back to face Five. His face still stained with blood and his suit more rumpled than maybe it should have been for a professional superhero. You offered half of a smirk. 

"I'm not an assassin Five. I can count the number of people I've killed on one hand, and I'd like to keep it that way. You can lock those doors yourself."

He opened his mouth letting his jaw hang for a second before shutting it and giving a tight-lipped smile. "Fair enough."

You patted the railing once. "Briefcase. Shower. Rest for tomorrow." 

He neither nodded in agreement nor gave any other show of affirmation, but he turned and started down the stairs. You watched his head disappear before making your way up into your office.

* * *

When you walked into your office the next morning. There was someone sitting at your desk. 

More than that, their feet were propped up on top of your mission report from yesterday.

Then again, she was the one who was supposed to be reading the report, so any smudges left were entirely on her.

"Y/N," the too bright voice of the Handler greeted you into your own office. 

You pushed your sleeve up checking the thin gold watch on your wrist, but the Handler's laugh pulled your attention from the watch's face. 

"No, you're not late, I'm just early. I've had terrible insomnia due to acid reflux. The doctor says I need to cut down on the chocolate and coffee before bed, but I can't seem to give it up." 

You forced your features into a look of polite interest as you entered into the room more fully, heading for Five's--the chair across from your desk.

"Anway, since I'm here early, I figured we could have a little chat about your progress with Number Five."

"I haven't left much out of my reports. It's all in the analysis section," you said, settling down into the chair across from her, placing your bag next to you and shrugging off your coat.

"Yes, your reports are  _ quite  _ detailed, which brings me to my question: why are you still on these missions with Five? By this time with Francis you had him on solo missions."

You had known this was coming. Not in a conscious way, but as the question hung between you, it was less of a surprise and more of an unfortunate inevitability. Of course she had noticed. Of course she had wondered. Of course you should have stopped going with him.

You wet your lips and then met her gaze. "Francis was a failure."

She raised her eyebrows, settling her chin down on top of her hands.

"I can't afford another failure--we can't afford another failure, so I've been more hands-on with Five's training." You crossed one leg over the other and immediately regretted the action. Thankfully you were disciplined enough to keep your face neutral. 

"And that's the  _ only  _ reason--careful attention to detail?" 

You nodded once, and her eyes scanned over you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her smile. 

"There's no shame in admitting that Number Five is attractive, Y/N. And you're about the same age--in and out of the timeline." 

Age was an imprecise measurement of time and the last possible reason you would find yourself attracted to someone. The thought tugged down at the corners of your mouth, and the Handler inclined her head towards you. 

"Attraction is biological, reflexive," the Handler said. "And you two are so similar and spend so much time together, it's natural for feelings to grow." 

"I don't have feelings for Five Hargreeves." The words were quiet, firm, and more forced than they should have been.

The Handler seemed to catch onto this and offered a shark-like smile. "Well. Should feelings develop, I won't hold them against you. So long as you remember that  _ acting  _ on such feelings is strictly prohibited by HR POLICY R16-1b."

"I'm familiar with the policy. I've quoted it to countless agents," you said, tightly.

_ All romantic relationships between supervisor and supervisee, whether committed, casual, or purely sexual, are strictly prohibited.  _

"Then I can safely assume you're familiar with R16-1c?"

"Any two employees formerly in a supervisor and supervisee relationship must wait six months from the termination of that relationship before they can enter into a romantic relationship."

"Precisely," the Handler smiled, pulling her feet from off of your desk and standing up. "Then I don't have to worry that I'll lose one of my best agents due to breaking policy."

"No," you agreed, rising to your own feet.

"Excellent," the Handler reached forward and patted your cheek before brushing past you to the door. "Good morning, Five." 

You turned to find the Handler grinning down at Five who gave her an incredibly false smile back. You could practically see all of his teeth. No more words were exchanged between the two as Five stepped out of the way to let the Handler through before coming into your office. 

"What did she want?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to the door as he walked towards you. You reached to grab the manila folder with the day's case in it and extended it out towards Five.

"Personally delivering our mission for the day, which means today's going to be an absolute blast for you."

He rolled his eyes and took the folder from you, fingers brushing against yours. 

You ignored the way your stomach flipped.


End file.
